


You swing in the wind, but you tilt at windmills.

by SaintSaens



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Chaos, Clumsiness, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Hypersensitivity, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Miscommunication, Panic Attacks, Protests, Social Anxiety, Sorry Not Sorry, because they will be needed I can tell you that much, idioms everyhwhere, not really but I don't know how to describe it, so much chaos, there are a lot of things implied, well asperger...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:01:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2459123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintSaens/pseuds/SaintSaens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is an oddity, a mystery that lets the Amis confused and wondering, and mostly curious. Very curious.</p>
<p>Up to the point where, slowly, they open the Pandora box; and they definitely wish they had not. But once you’ve done something, you can’t really go back in time to erase it. So you struggle, and you learn. </p>
<p>But in the end, it’s worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Always hook, line and sinker. That just the way he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dearest reader ! I hope everything is fine and dandy for you, and I would just like to point out a few things first :
> 
> 1) thank you for opening this fic. I really hope you'll like it <3
> 
> 2) I don't want to tell too much about the fic but it's an answer to this prompt : http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/14280.html?thread=14093000#t14093000  
> Basically Grantaire has Asperger'syndrome and tries to hide it until the Amis notice.
> 
> 3) Just to be clear, I don't have Asperger's syndrome, I don't know anyone who was diagnosed with it (if I can put it like that); the only source of information I have as to how it goes is wikipedia and associations' websites. I've tried to stick as much as possible to what it could be like, but note that this is a work of fiction, thus it's fundamentally unreal in itself. 
> 
> 4) As such, I apologise if I hurt anyone who has Asperger's syndrome. I realize it could lead to misinterpretation as to what it is. Also, bear in mind it's the male representation of Asperger's syndrome that is depicted here (it can vary! How wonderful is that !).
> 
> 5) English is not my native language.So many many apologies as to the mistakes that might appear in the text ! Don't hesitate to tell me if one happens to be burning your eyes that badly !
> 
> Have a nice time reading dear !

_**Chapter 1 : Always hook, line and sinker. That just the way he is.** _

 

 

“Ah ! What the dickens ?” Grantaire whispered harshly from his table in the corner. The meeting had come to a break after the Amis had been working on the upcoming protest, and apparently his voice had been enough of a surprise to caught everyone’s attention.

  
The Amis turned their eyes toward their cynic artist, and smirks and giggles escaped them as they saw a bottle of alcohol dangerously rolling toward the edge of his table, while still pouring wine all over its surface. It did not seem to appease or relax their friend who cursed vividly, and even more oddly , with something akin to “what a toadeater I am! Good gracious!” while trying to save his sketches from the dangerous liquor.

  
As soon as he had managed to save some of them from the purple alcohol, his friends’ outright laughter reminded him of the rolling glass which had kept its course. Indeed when they saw the bottle dangling precariously on the edge and Grantaire’s movement to try and stop it from falling, they could not prevent themselves. And if he managed to jungle with it for a second, however, gravity claimed its power over the inanimate object, and let if fall in a powerful noise that made the drunkard wince visibly.

  
The laughter died down a few seconds after that, which seems to calm Grantaire slightly as his breath evened out. Some of the Amis sighted with sympathy (Bossuet more than any other) and some other rolled their eyes at their friend’s antics, before returning to their conversations.

  
Only Enjolras was frowning deeply, mouth thin. He knew that it was Grantaire’s first bottle of the night, yes he kept a close eye on it, and wondered how on earth he could have managed the feast of making it fall without even having drunk half of it, seeing all the content it had spread on the café’s table. His suspicion grew more so when he noticed that Grantaire was murmuring to himself.

  
Combeferre, looking at his companion, glanced at the subject of his consideration and threw a questioning glance toward him. But Enjolras was too lost in thought to clearly notice. Grantaire did not have a drink before they came in the room according to Musichetta, even if he seemed to have been there long before them, as it was always the case. Nonetheless, he already acted as if drunk what with all his weird small movements and self-whispers.

  
His friend was definitely odd sometimes, but Enjolras realized he did not have the time to dwell on it as he felt someone poking at his arm. It was Marius again, pointing him to the protest’s map. Right, they needed to make sure they did not cross way with the counter rally on Sunday…

As Grantaire stood up faltering a bit to avoid walking on anymore wine and pieces of glass than necessary, he felt someone at his side. Surprised, he chanced a confused look at the newcomer. It was Jehan, who was smiling up at him with a pleading face.

  
“ _Ahlala_ , Grantaire, you never stop to amaze me” he declared in a lovely sing song.

  
“What can I do for you my dear Romantic ? Do you need some liquid to prevent your thirst?” Grantaire joked with a forced smile “I’m afraid you’ll need to return for that, since I happen to have angered the Gods quite awfully tonight. They decided to attack my sketches. It must not be in their goodwill for me to draw this church of Saint-Aubin. Are they afraid they will lose my allegiance? I have no idea, but I’m sure they are already not too attached to my faith, since I have none. Apart for this old Dionysus but that’s another matter entirely. Or maybe it was the gothic artists who were angered at my copy of a copy of their own work...’”

  
He was rambling and he knew it.

  
He cut himself sharply, straightening his back and turning toward his seat, where wine was still slowly dripping from the table. He felt he had already gone too far, he needed to do something to keep his mind from talking. Why was it that he could never prevent from doing so again and again and again ? He had been warned enough time already that it was trying at best and bothersome in the least. He needed to be more careful, he knew it, he knew it,even though it proved more difficult as sleep became scarcer and scarcer in his nights.

  
He was tired, oh so tired. But that was not a good enough plea for what he inflicted on his friend, what with all his verbosity.

  
Fortunately, Jehan happened to be one of the few people he knew whom never begrudged him for all his chatting. He had even told him a few times that he loved listening to his spontaneous speeches.

  
Which Grantaire took the liberty of doubting, knowing that he was seldom interesting and never a great person to listen to.

  
But he never enlightened the poet on it. It would be considered mean he had learned, to be too honest with the persons you considered close to you, and he was not to speak unless asked to. That’s how he knew things needed to go. Otherwise it would be disastrous.

  
“Wordy again my friend ? The wine did lose your tongue easily tonight, although I suspect it was not entirely its fault” Jehan winked playfully at the poor pretext Grantaire used when he kept on talking and talking. Indeed it was not useful for this night, and Grantaire ducked his head quickly, looking at the glass sprawled at his feet.

  
“Well, one could think the fumes of this dilating poison are enough to work at the expense of my brain’s cells...” He bit his lips hard and closed his eyes. He needed to stop that, right now.

  
“ Anyway, I came here to offer you a trade : I’ll help you clean this pagan wine and in exchange you’ll tell me more about how the Greek mythology was influenced by the relationship of the Ancient Greek with the Extreme Orient’ civilisations, what do you say ? I know you’re a walking encyclopaedia when it comes to the subject, and I would like to take advantage of that if you don’t mind of course” Jehan winked again playfully, trying to relax his friend.

  
Grantaire simply nodded at that, not trusting his mouth again.

  
But he could not help it when, a few minutes later, he started on again “Would you rather know about the Persian’s influence or the Egyptian’ one ? Unless you are more attached to the geographical and concrete impact of their relationships, on their religion?” And just like that, Jehan listened apparently enraptured as Grantaire mumbled, losing his train of thoughts and coming back to it when his friend managed to ask him about it.

  
* * *

  
They were out on the street without Grantaire realizing it. It was already well past midnight and he hated going back home before that. Too many people still wandering in the streets, too many cars driving fast. It calmed down after midnight, so he always favoured this time of the night to walk back to his flat. His friends did not have the same reasons to stay out so late, but they never really cared. As long as they had helped their cause going on, they were happy and they never asked him why he stayed there so late.

  
They left in group of two or three by precaution, as always when it was so early in the morning, or late in the evening. Grantaire managed to stop himself from talking about how the defeat against Syracuse had lead the Greek to rethink entirely their approach toward religion, when he saw Courfeyrac coming. Jehan smiled nonetheless, and thanked him profusely before Courfeyrac swept him away with a wave and a kiss in the air.

  
Grantaire started walking toward his own flat quickly after their departure, and to calm down he took a cigarette out of his bag and started smoking it slowly. The fire burning his lungs had always helped him deal with controlling his... case. Fortunately enough, his parents had not cared how he took care of hiding it, as long as he did.

  
So there went smoking, and then drinking, when he was around people, when his heart hurt too much from constriction, and his mind was too concentrated on making him act accordingly to the expectations of the world.

  
He kept on walking for a few minutes when he realized with a strike that he had forgotten his sketches in the Café. Anxiety sized him. He needed them. He needed to finish them as soon as he went home. They needed to be put on the wall with the other drawings. It was not possible otherwise. It could not wait. He needed them now.

  
With a sharp turn he ran back quickly toward the Musain, knowing yet full well that Musichetta had already closed it, but he ran nevertheless. The screaming of his lungs and the tightness of his throat and the haze in his mind could not be tamed unless he had those sketches in his hands.

  
As he turned the corner, he saw beneath the streetlight Enjolras and Combeferre waiting in front of the café, who was effectively closed. When they heard him coming, they waved at him, smiling slightly for Combeferre, looking blankly for Enjolras. The latter one had papers in his hands still and as soon as Grantaire came running nearer he handed them to him sharply.

  
Panting, the artist looked wide-eyed at Enjolras and then at the drawing in his hands.

  
“These are yours. Musichetta said you would want them back as soon as possible.” His expression was unreadable when Grantaire took the papers in his hands with a heavy sight of relief.

“Thanks” he murmured “I would have been in a Catch 22 situation otherwise. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”

  
“Did you ran all the way back just for those ?” Enjolras asked, confusion clear in his voice.

  
“Yes. As I said already I don’t know what I would have done without them. And I don’t know how to thank you for it really.”

  
“You could always come to the protest on Sunday you know” Enjolras said blankly.

  
Combeferre cut him swiftly before an argument broke in the street “Well, you would have had them back tomorrow anyway. You did not need to risk your life just for them, you know” Combeferre stated gently.

  
“Don’t be daft” Grantaire laughed “I didn’t dice with death. I just thought it would be quite unhandy if I did not have them with me tonight. To make a leap in the dark isn’t my thing... I wanted to finish them anyhow” He added softly, glancing at his hands tightly clenched around the papers. He glanced back at the corner of the street, unsure of what to do next.

  
As he fidgeted Enjolras threw a concerned glance toward his guide who cleared his throat, which weirdly failed at catching Grantaire’s attention again.

  
“Grantaire?” Combeferre asked calmly, trying to have his attention. When the young man turned his eyes on him after a few seconds, he went on “You just crossed the road under our eyes without even looking if there were any car coming your way, for those pieces of paper.” He said pointing at the drawings. “You really need to pay more attention to your surroundings. This could become dangerous for you.”

  
Even though it was said nicely, Grantaire still seemed to be weary after his words. He nodded vaguely, grimacing and shrugging his shoulders before starting to walk back where he came from. “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks again by the way. I bid you a goodnight! ” He waved uncomfortably at them before jogging back on the street.

  
Enjolras went to stop him. He had forgotten to look at the road again, and he had not said anything about the protest he thought in a huff. And Courfeyrac and Jehan would be back with the car in no time, they could take him back to his flat and he would not have to walk in the dark streets alone. But Combeferre stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head slowly, knowing exactly what Enjolras was thinking.

  
“Don’t. Bahorel drove him home once, and he was on edge the entire drive for no reason at all. I think it’s his way of cooling down, walking in the night. So I really don’t think it’s a good idea to offer him a drive. He would not refuse but it would be uncomfortable for everyone.”

  
“And clearly he does look like he needs some rest, don’t pressure him okay?” He added, to make sure his point was understood.

  
“But it’s not safe Combeferre ! You know where he lives! Everything could happen to him while we are here waiting for a car!” Enjolras hissed. He was appalled at his friend’s comment.

  
“Maybe, but honestly you don’t want him on edge. Bahorel don’t anyway, and that’s enough of a reason for me. Also, Grantaire is strong enough to beat him in boxing, and you’ve seen his running, not taking into account how weird it might look like. He would do just fine if he ended up in trouble.” He patted his shoulder “Don’t work yourself up for that.”

  
“But... It’s just” Enjolras breathed a long time. “He is very confusing. And... I don’t know, sometimes, he just seems off... and...” He threw his hand in the air as he was getting angrier and angrier with himself “I don’t know. I don’t understand him. At all!”.

  
Combeferre laughed softly “ Are you saying you care ?” The glare he received was enough of an answer for the student. He shook his head as he saw the red car coming to meet them.

  
“Yes, yes, I’ve noticed. But you don’t need to put yourself in such a state, you fool. If you’re really that concerned about him we could always ask Jehan. He has known him the longest after all.”

  
As the car pulled up next to them and they climb in the back seats, Combeferre asked coolly “Jehan, I’ve got a question if you don’t mind : Is Grantaire always this extreme ?”


	2. One too many Achilles heel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan manages to drag Grantaire to the rally, but as the Murphy's law speculates "Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong". Luckily enough Feuilly is there. Unluckily enough, Enjolras is very angry (but, hey, that was to be expected from him wasn't it ?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dearest readers !  
> First of all, thanks for the comebacks ! I'm sorry I made you wait sooo long for this next chapter, but you know "life" sort of got in the way and I couldn't really do anything for a while because of it. Fortunately the holidays are here for me so I hope I'll be able to write the next chapters soon enough and post them too !
> 
> Hope, as always, that you'll like it !
> 
> Have a nice read <3

“Come on _Grantaire_!” Jehan was whining, sending pleading glances from the floor, where he was sprawled, while his friend was curled up on his bed, intently looking at the glass globe Jehan had just brought him. The green colours it created were captivating: according to the light, it would switch promptly from a sea green to a Dartmouth green.  The artist couldn’t yet settle regarding one of the ten shades of the glass globe, wondering if it turned more toward a Jungle green or a Shamrock green.

 He will need to examine it further.

Maybe compare it to his others green supplies, in the second drawer of his desk, in the main room of his flat.  

Could it be exactly the same colour as the cover of his Edda?

“Grantaire, I swear It will be fine.” Jehan insisted rolling around on the carpet “It’ not the biggest protest we ever did, and it’s a properly peaceful one. You know that, you where there when we set it up. You know how it’s going to go. You know it all, from where we start to where we finish. I even have one of Feuilly’s maps if you want to be sure.”

Grantaire hummed tiredly, never letting his eyes away from the globe in his hands for even one second.

Jehan rolled his eyes at his friend’s behaviour and knelt in front of him, arms crossed on the bed. Grantaire kept looking at the object in his hand, oblivious to his environment. The light that shown through it made his eyes look a translucent evolving blue.

Jehan was not deterred in the least “We will just say hi and then we can take the side streets, so that there won’t be too many persons. And we can always leave when you want to. It’s not that much of a big deal if we don’t stay. But you know how much the others would love for you to come. You never went to any of our other protests before.” 

“It would mean a lot”He added, his fingers slowly and softly sweeping through the artist’s curls. Grantaire stopped moving the globe between his deft fingers but didn’t stop looking at it.  He blinked slowly a few times before he finally made eye contact with Jehan. The poet would have been put-off by this interaction, the long unmoving glance, if he did not knew his friend better. His quirks were funny, but it would always create tension with people who were not use to them.

“Grantaire, I swear, it would mean a lot.”

Grantaire didn’t move or say anything. And jehan kept his fingers moving, knowing his friends needed his time, and needed the grounding to think properly.

Finally, after a few minutes, the rhythm of Jehan’s fingers in his curls seemed to wake Grantaire up from his own mind. He blinked more quickly this time and sighing, sat on his bed. “I...” He looked at the window where the autumn lights shown through.  His grip on the globe was tighter.

“I don’t want to be a burden is all...” he whispered ever so softly that Jehan thought he had dreamed it at first. But then, the look in his friend’ s eyes, the way his hands kept twitching minutely and  how he breathed faster than before were all the signs the poet needed to understand.

He sat himself slowly on the bed, crossed legged, and carded both of his hands in his friend’s hair gently. The movement was familiar for them, when the hands cover ever so niftily the ears and stay there. Not moving. No matter what. And their head gets closer and closer, until they touch and hides to one another the rest of the world, or at least blurs it in the background. And Grantaire took it as the pledge it meant.

Jehan would not let him become a burden during the protest. Because his friend knew that, deep down, Grantaire did not want to disappoint. And if he went, he would push himself too far as always, just to make his friends proud. He use to try and make his parents proud.  And if there was no one to stop him, like it was the case before, he would just crumble under the weight of all the things that were happening, that could  happen, that would happen; and he would just become the burden he hated  being. He would just fall apart and, unresponsive, stop being entirely.

“Okay... Show me the map then. If the coast is clear, then maybe I’ll go.” Jehan’s squeak made Grantaire nod, even if it hurt his ears slightly. “But we won’t stay long. Let’s be clear on that.”

“Of course, whatever you want !”  He cried happily, jumping off the bed and bringing to his friend the map.

“Whatever you want” repeated Jehan, smiling like never before. It made Grantaire hope that it would be a great time indeed, and it made him forget a bit about himself, and his curse.

He would not be a burden to his friends, like he had been to his parents. That would not happen

* *  *

And yet, when they approached the manifestation, Grantaire could not help but cringe at the people that were standing there. And to make things harder, most of the Amis were in the middle of the mass, as he had noticed from his place at the end of the crowd.

 As soon as they met Joly and Bossuet near the end line of the manifestation, Grantaire had felt uneasy.  His left shoulder kept twitching even when Jehan tried to massage it, and his hands in the pocket of his sweatshirt would not stop fidgeting with the globe.  He had absent-mindedly saluted the both of them, eyes going back and forth between his feet, the crowd and the clouds in the sky.

 Is it a Periwinkle blue ? Yes, it definitely is, Grantaire thought, cocking his head.

Joly had shown his friends the fastest way to go and talk to the rest of their group. Unfortunately for Grantaire it meant crossing the waves of people, talking loudly to one another, walking without proper aim yet. It was disorder, and unlikely reactions, and chaos. Before going though, Jehan had smiled up to him and Grantaire had been powerless to refuse him. So he smiled, and pretended, like he had learned to do so many years ago. He pretended it was fine, and it did not bother him that much.

And usually it was the case, about chaos. Usually he liked it. When it was a chaos he could master.  The chaos of his mind that he dominated on canvas when everything was too loud for him to handle, with small and precise points, lines of points painted again and again and again, until the tempest of his soul was settled and the rhythm of his movements soothed the waves of his heart; the chaos he ruled when he boxed and danced at length, mastering a body that would always otherwise betray him; the chaos he controlled with patience and will when he felt, closing his eyes, the textures of paper, the  density of charcoal, the softness of paint; and it felt like his last chance of being normal again.

_This_ type of chaos however, he could not. The chaos, with too many strangers, too many unknowns. The chaos he could not control. He could not wrap his mind around it. And it was the worst. Because it hurt too much. He was too aware of the people passing by his side, the ones speaking about everything and anything that caught his attention, the ones moving ever so slightly out of their way which made Grantaire try to dodge them. It was too much too suddenly. And his damned mind couldn’t take it.

He was so focused on trying to calm down his body, rolling the green globe back and forth in his hands that it felt like an electrical shock when someone bumped into him unexpectedly, and send him tumbling down on the ground. He lost his balance quite easily, no matter how much he had mastered the art of dancing, and boxing, his equilibrium had always been a issue for him. The choc sent him spiralling into nothingness within seconds, and his face went blank. The person must have apologized, and really it wasn’t a big deal since Jehan kept walking on as if nothing had happened; but it failed Grantaire.

He lost contact with the poet in a matter of second and now he was lost. The touch had sent fire running down his chest, his mind became a fog of _peopletoomanypeople_ everywhere, his limbs were on auto-pilote, and before he could realize what he was doing, he found himself sitting on the pavement in a side alley, rocking ever so faintly back and forth.

He tried not to do that too much. He knew what it looked like, and God he hated it. But he was tearing at his last shred of hope. The balance he could find, for his mind and his body, with those small movements of stability, it sent peace to his mind. It made him breathe, and feel again, softly, without danger or threat. He could focus on the dark void of his mind, creating a revolution from chaos to a faint circling order, like the universe around the sun, and the waves were here again, quiet and comforting. Always comforting.

The green globe was rolling between his palms, above his head.

A shadow came to envelop him at some point, and blocked the too harsh light and the too loud noise from the rally. It was gentle, and brought peace to his mind.

* * *

He didn’t knew how long he stayed like that, eyes closed tightly, head between his knees drawn closed to his chest, and his arms covering his ears. He only knew he was safe here.  The rocking had subsided and now he needed only the motion of his head, swaying from side to side, to feel calm. How long has it been since he last had to resort to this? It must have been months. He had failed again though. He was becoming a freak again wasn’t he? This thought made him clench harder at the globe, and he felt all of his muscle tense again. He breathed shakily, and tried to focus again on the rocking.

A few minutes later, he finally noted that sound, in the background.

Small and ever present sound.

Opening his eyes, he became aware of the soft voice, whispering again and again his name. As he looked up, startled, he felt his face blanche in seconds. Feuilly was crouched beside him, looking at him with hopeful eyes. He did not stop whispering when he talked again, as if he knew what Grantaire’s reaction could be. He also stayed crouched near his friend, and further away, Grantaire could see Bahorel standing at the alley’s entrance, effectively hiding them both from the people manifesting not so far away.

“Grantaire, hey, we were looking for you mon ami” Feuilly smiled softly.

“I...I... sorry. I think I stirred the hornet’s nest...” Shame took over him. His voice was hoarse, and dry. He realized he had been mumbling again, while he was there.

“Don’t be.  You’re here with us, that’s all that matters now, isn’t it?” Feuilly manoeuvred with delicacy around the issue. Grantaire did not understood why he was not asking what he was doing, why he was not laughing at him or keeping his distance with him. He was confused and his lack of answer prompted Feuilly to wave Bahorel away. The big man left with a small salute and walked away, whistling and talking to some protestors.

“I did not know you were listening to Bowie” Feuilly stated calmly.

_So that was what he had been mumbling again._

He stood up slowly, making his movements evident for Grantaire to see, and he extended a hand to him. Grantaire looked at it for a while, not knowing whether to take it or to run away from it. Here he was, being the burden he hated to be. But seeing Feuilly not moving, keeping smiling at him as if everything was alright,  as if there was no issue at all, it felt wrong.

Grantaire wanted to scream. And to cry. But he could not do any of those things, he had already been too weak today, he could not go down any further.

“Space Oddity huh ? I should have expected it knowing you.”

This simple sentence made Grantaire move. He shyly took the hand and as he was helped up he cocked his head a bit, shrugging.

“Well, you know, Space Oddity is this sort of never ending song... I mean the instrumental and all that...” He murmured dropping his head.

“Yeah, I use to listen to it all the time. One of my foster mothers was a huge fan.” Feuilly piped in, not moving. He was waiting for Grantaire to cool down, the artist realized. He was protecting him from the crowd and he had never dropped his whispering tone. “Up until I listened to Under pressure. Honestly Bowie and Queen on the same song, my heart shattered.”

The somewhat off-handed comment made Grantaire laugh, and the artist quickly noticed that all of this common conversation had managed to ground him again. It must have shown since Feuilly’s concern washed off his face, unexpectedly for Grantaire.  Why was his friend so concern for something like that ?

“Do you feel like walking? or would you like to wait a bit?” Feuilly turned slightly to show him the streets that were clear of people. The protest had walked on leaving them behind. And Feuilly was here with him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be talking on stage with Enjolras? Like I remember clearly you and him rehearsing your speech...” Grantaire asked incredulous.

“No, not anymore. I sent a text to Courfeyrac, telling him he could take my place. You know how he always wanted to try it.” He said waving his hand in front of him.

“But... But you were suppose to talk! You need to go, you need to be there, at least to support them!” He was loosing his control again. “I’m good, but you need to go. You said so. It’s going to make waves” He could not take his friend down with him into this horrid spiral. He needed to show him what was important.

His breath had quickened and its only with Feuilly’s hand on his head that he came back to reality.

“Hey, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I would honestly rather stay with you than be in front of those guys. It’s quite trying and I’m already not at my best what with all the work I’ve been doing these days... I really don’t know how Enjolras does it all the time. He isn’t human.”

“If he heard you talk like that, you would feel his wrath. You’re sailing close to the wind” Replied Grantaire, dryly.

“Well, my dear, I don’t give a damn” said the ginger man with a smirk.

They had begun walking toward the main street, and Feuilly kept a light hand on his elbow, guiding him away from the centre stage.  He always managed to put himself between Grantaire and strangers crossing them on the road.

Once they were in a quieter space, they found a small bench to sit on and watched the birds in silence.

“How did you know?” Grantaire asked, out of the blue. He did not want to actually know. It would be another shame to his already great collection. But he could not get it off his mind how Feuilly had handled his reaction. Hell, even Jehan could not handle something like that. Or then he took it for something else entirely.

Feuilly kept quiet for a few minutes, then sighing he answered, without glancing once at Grantaire. “I didn’t know, until I saw you in the alley, but I guess all I noticed build up to this only possible conclusion really. I knew a kid who was just like that, back when I was in the foster system. And no one could handle his crises. I was the only one who knew what to do. I think it came naturally for me, seeing how he reacted to others and all that... But why didn’t you say anything Grantaire ? We could have triggered you without knowing, it’s not really nice, neither for you, nor for us.”

Grantaire could feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes. Exhaling a shaky breath he turned his head away from his friend and started mumbling the lyrics of his song again. Here he was again, having to try and explain that no, he was not a freak. Even if he had a hard time believing it himself.

Here they were again, those damn words among other “crisis”, “trigger”...Please, don’t say that he thought. Because it hurts to know that, no matter how hard he tried to be normal, his friend still could see through it. And they could see how much of a fucked-up he was.

“Hey, Grantaire”. Feuilly was nudging at him. “Grantaire, please listen to me, it’s not important. No matter what you have, no matter how you react, it’s not important. It does not define you. You understand that right ? No matter what you think you are, you will always be my friend okay ? And I can assure you it’s the same with the others, yeah ?”

“Yeah, yeah, if you say so...”  He got up, waving at Feuilly awkwardly before briskly walking back to his flat, unaware of his friend calling after him.

* * *

As soon as Enjolras saw Jehan coming their way, he felt a sight a relief (and maybe a tad of happiness) knowing his friend had managed to come to the protest in time but also had managed to drag the cynic with him. He had swore earlier that he would only come if the artist came too. It apparently had worked.

 The poet waved at him with a smile that could rival the sunlight and the leader could feel Courfeyrac trepidation coming off of him from his left. As soon as the literature student came into reach, the curly haired man grabbed him and made him turn laughing for a few minutes.

Combeferre on the stage was making sure everything was in order, and shook his head when Enjolras glanced at him. Frowning, the blond turned around again and that’s when he saw.

 Or rather, saw nothing.

 Grantaire was not there. He looked around and checked his phone again. Bossuet had told him that Jehan and Grantaire were making their way toward them.

 His confusion grew even more when he saw that the protest was about to start. They could not delay again its beginning unless they wanted to cross the counter-protest, which would mean violence and the end of their right to protest again for a long time. They could not wait for him to show up.

Enjolras send a nod at Combeferre to tell him to start talking, and with more force than necessary stopped the couple that were slowly hugging now.

“Where is he ? You said he would come. Hell, even Bossuet said he was coming. But he is not here.” Enjolras knew he came out stronger than intended, but he was furious. Furious at himself for being so riled up by something so insignificant, and also for believing that once, Grantaire would actually care enough to show up.

He was fuming as Jehan, startled, watched the way he had come. His eyes widen when he realized Grantaire was nowhere to be seen.

“I... Oh my God. What have I done?” His throat closed on itself making him choke the last words. Courfeyrac, serious again, shook him a little.

“Jehan, it’s not that much of a problem. I’m sure he will come at one point.”

“No, no you don’t understand. He was with me, and he was behind me, he told me he would stay behind me. And he couldn’t have gone anywhere else. He can’t do that...I failed him” His breathing became erratic, and he was trembling as he fished his phone out of his pocket.  Courfeyrac threw a glare at his leader. Said leader sent him a shrug.

 What was he suppose to do ? Jehan was with Grantaire and now Grantaire was just gone. It was not his fault really.

“What do you mean he can’t do that ? I’m sure he is fine, Jehan” Courfeyrac was trying really hard not to start panicking too.

As if on cue, a phone started to chime in.

 Enjolras quickly looked at the message he had received from Bahorel. Sighing he opened it. He really did not have time for that. They had the habit of communicating only when violence was starting to rise in the protest. And it had not even really started yet! What could it be this time? The counter rally already ?

But what he saw made him sight in relief.

**_[Bahorel_** : _Hey, thought u’ld want 2 know R  is w/ Feuilly? So don’t start panic. They’ll be at the end of the crowd._ **_]_**

“Jehan, it’s good. Grantaire apparently is with Feuilly and Bahorel.”

“What ?... But... oh. Okay then...” He was surprised at that, because he knew that if Bahorel or Feuilly had been close enough to talk to Grantaire they would have at least said hi to the poet.

“You can stop looking confused dear you know ? “ Courfeyrac laughed.

“No, it’s just... It’s nothing, you’re right, I shouldn’t have freaked out on you like that.”

“Don’t worry, we’re used to freaks out. Right Enjy ?” Courfeyrac said, winking at him

 The leader blushed slightly before turning is attention back toward the stage. Freaks-out was not what he would call last minute verifications over a rally. No, it definitely wasn’t.

His phone biped a second time, it was Bahorel yet again. Enjolras was trying really hard not to roll his eyes this time.

**_[Bahorel :_ ** _Can you tell Courf to take Feuilly’s place on stage ? Thanks **. ]**_

“What?” He exclaimed loudly. “Courfeyrac, why do you have to take Feuilly’s place latter?” He looked ready to kill someone.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Courfeyrac...” He was hissing now, trying very hard to control his temper.

“No, I swear It’s not me. I didn’t do anything !”

“Then, why...”

The phone biped.  Again. Enjolras sighted heavily.

**_[Bahorel :_ ** _Feuilly is staying with Grantaire. Don’t scream at Courf, not his fault. I can hear you from where I am. I’m walking toward you now. Everything is fine and dandy. **]**_

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. The rally is starting. We need to be ready for every possible thing that could happen. We don’t have the time to dwell on that.” He stated sternly.

He was fuming dangerously. Why, the only time Grantaire comes, it ends up messing up with their plans. What was wrong with the guy really ? Feuilly had been waiting months for that stage speech. He had spent hours drafting it and perfecting it. And now, because of this damn drunkard he would not be able to do it. It was not fair, and Enjolras could not stand that.

As Courfeyrac stood on the stage an hour or so latter, Enjolras thought that he would have a talk with Grantaire. And just like that, he made his mind. No matter what it took, he could not knowingly let his friend clutter their projects.

As the protest died off, and everyone was packing up, Enjolras decided to make a last time check with the security and the medics in charge  to make sure everything went as well as it looked.  Finally, as he went toward their point of meeting behind the main stage, he decided to call Feuilly. The working man responded quickly.

“Hey Enjolras, what’s up ?”

“Hey, hum, do we need to be concern if you did not show up for your speech ?” He tried to be cordial, because he knew getting angry right away wouldn’t help at all.

“No, no I’m fine, I just... well, I was talking with R. Kind of took much more time than I thought it would. Sorry about that...”

“No, it’s alright. Courfeyrac did your speech. It’s just... I know you’ve been dreaming of saying that speech for so long. I don’t understand why you would miss it just to talk with Grantaire? I mean, you can see him every other day.”

“It’s not that simple, Enjolras. I can’t really explain right now... It’s just not my place to tell.”

So, it was Grantaire who had messed up. Now, at least, that was clear.

“Is Grantaire with you now ? “ His tone was harsh, but he was seething inside.

“He just left... I think he went back to his flat, but Enj-”

“Thanks Feuilly. I’ll see you later, I need to go now. Bye”

So, Grantaire’s flat... Enjolras needed to find Jehan soon now. After the post-rally meeting, he would go to Jehan, get R's address, and possibly a set of keys because he was known to never open his door to anyone.

And that was just a matter of time before the issue settled down by itself.


End file.
